Everlasting Tempest
by Lynniethe7th
Summary: You are no hero, tyrant. Your evil persists, and we will fight you until the end of time, for the truth remains with us.


_**Disclaimer: I don't own Minecraft.**_

_**Getting back into Minecraft and fan fiction for it, I've crafted this little piece quite quickly. It's different than anything I've written, since I usually don't like the perspective, and that the idea puts a different spin on how the game is usually perceived. **_

"We welcome you, our savior, our new King," you hear the people say, as an ignorant, long-nosed villager presents you a golden crown, embellished with diamonds, emeralds, lapis lazuli, and an ender pearl from those oh-so-nasty Endermen that you frequently slay to experience the thrill and speed of their teleporting abilities. These villagers, or too say more accurately, city dwellers, hand you the best enchanted weapons, armor, treasure, and food for your bravery. Robed men and women along with their children surround you, bowing respectfully as the man before you places that handsome crown upon your head, the impermeable obsidian castle that they tediously built as your exquisite residence looming over all of you, its shadow casting for hundreds of metres onto the commoners' homes.

After you receive title of King, the people chant, shouting out your name as you smile, now the new King of Minecraftia.

You stand there before thousands of enthusiastic people, and what they presume is a smile from the joy within you, is actually your smirking from your recognizing the sheer ignorance of the people you can now control without opposition.

All least… for now.

They hail you, faces glimmering with hope, that you, almighty King, can restore peace to the broken, cruel world that has been persisting since the villagers first settled, thousands of years ago.

You, however, are no person to perform such a task. The one responsible for the hostility, the mobs, the destruction, the ruins of the old civilization, and the lack of the glorious humans that are perceived as gods in the villagers' eyes…

It's you, the "great" hero. You have been the prominent threat to this land ever since your conception, well before the days any city dweller coherent and currently living can remember.

The past haunts you, as you view our temples, dwelling under desert sand and under the thick canopy and humidity of the jungles. Our former cities and villages have almost completely crumbled into dust, and sadly, you are the sole human that can remember the days when our towers stretched into the skies, when our markets flourished, and when our villages were peaceful and populated with content human beings.

We too, remember, usurper, when you destroyed everything, including us, the humans that once had been. Now we quiver in rage that you are assaulting our descendants millennia later, repeating the same cycle that you have practised with us.

We continue to stop your tyranny, the centuries-old hostility intertwined in our immortal souls, as we, the undead, creepers, and Endermen, degraded or excelled forms of our ancient ancestors, strive to prevent you from further inhospitable actions.

At night, you venture out of your castle of safety, knowing all too well that all the humanoid beings of the darkness were similar in appearance to you, dictatorial King. The forces of undead still roam, armor and weapons in hand, once brave warriors and archers to defeat your pitiful loyal armies, fight against you, and the destruction of you is the prime focus on their fading or non-existent minds. So sad, to think that the zombies' hunger has to be satisfied by our descendants over you, but it is a small cost to pay to strike you down. Even if the villagers are lost, after their demise, they will join _our_ side, learning that you are the problem, not us.

The next warriors of the mobs are the creepers, the mutated humans, ordered to eradicate the life of himself and his target, silently following you, blowing you into oblivion. A sacrifice for us, it seems, but we are reborn again as you are, better prepared to parry against your new fighting measures.

Then there is us, the Endermen. Created from ripping a hole to a new dimension, when we former humans hid from you within the strongholds. Entering this dimension, it eventually altered us into this new species, yet our new forms have given us many more opportunities to decimate you when the time is right, for as the undead and creepers, we are everlasting as you are.

We are not without help. When the spiders, slimes, silverfish, and witches joined our side, our goals have become more obtainable than ever before.

It sickens us, to see that after all the injury you caused, all the lives you took, all the things you've demolished, and the false promises you've made…

You think you're a hero?

You are the scum of this realm, King. You are the monster that needs to be terminated, to restore the world of those at the bottom of our family trees to the tranquility that we've enjoyed, so long ago. Not one mob will stop to break through the secret of your (and our) immortality, even if we need to go until the end of time.

Enjoy your reign, King, for your time is due to end utterly and forever, very soon.

_**Hm, it's short, but it was a quick idea. Minecraft is a rather weird topic for me to write about nowadays, but it's been a year since I've written anything for it.**_


End file.
